Patton pending

Mike Patton is undoubtedly one of the most enigmatic and unpredictable personalities in rock music, but he says his oft-speculated-upon existence isn't nearly as interesting as people think.

"There's really not a lot going on," says Patton down the line from Kansas, on the set of his first big acting role, in the movie Firecracker. "I'm usually in a hotel room, I've got a computer, I work on music and I have no life. Boom! There you go! I'm a bit of a hermit, so it works fine for me."

The 35-year-old singer's twisted lyrics and wildly schizophrenic music, not to mention some bizarre behaviour (rumours of drinking urine and eating faeces have abounded in the past), have created what Patton says is a false perception that he's a troubled soul. "I like to imagine Mike Patton's mind in similar terms as rural America," wrote one reviewer. "It's a nice place to visit, but I sure as hell wouldn't want to live there."

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"People would rather just make my music a personality issue," Patton grouches, "which to me is a real bore. Give it a f---ing rest! It's a common thing for people to pull, you know, 'the psycho card', but it really just makes me want to take a nap."

In Firecracker, Patton has taken on the dual roles of Frank ("an older carnival owner") and David ("an alcoholic older brother") in a true tale of deceit, abuse and murder with a carnival backdrop. Both characters die, says Patton, after being on the receiving end, respectively, of "a pair of scissors and a couple of blunt objects".

During our interview, Patton is relaxed, chatty and humble, but is a straight shooter, opinionated and guarded about his personal life and lyrics. "How about none of your f---in' business?" he responds to one question about whether his personal life suffers for his work. "Make of that what you will, my man."

He talks in a jittery, high-pitched lilt that belies his growly singing voice, swears a lot and laughs often, with a wheezy cackle.

"Acting is even stranger than I thought it would be," he says. "I'm still figuring it out. It's been fun, but it's also been a pain in the ass. I mean, I've been here a month! It's safe to say that I'm happy to be going home, but I went into it thinking that if I at least got a laugh out of it I'd be happy, and I did more than that. So all's not lost."

And how does he see acting figuring in his future?

"I don't see it at all!" he cackles. "If something comes my way, fine, but I don't see myself out on a street corner with my pant leg rolled up going, 'Will act for cock!'

It's not surprising that the workaholic Patton was climbing the walls from being stuck in the same place for more than a month. Musically, he's never stood still for long, certainly not since Faith No More split in 1998, after fronting them for nine years.

After that band's demise, he began running his own record label, Ipecac, continued fronting Mr Bungle (who, he says, for all intents and purposes, have now split), and headed new bands Tomahawk and Fantomas.

He also sang on Dan "The Automator" Nakamura's superb Lovage album, collaborated with Sepultura, the Dillinger Escape Plan and rapper Rahzel, and has recorded an album with US turntablists the X-ecutioners.

"It's a blast," he says of being a record label boss. "I get to put out insane, crazy music that nobody else wants to put out. Running my own label has really taken the myths right the f--- out of it. People try and portray the music industry as though it's some sort of nuclear fusion, that it's rocket science and so complex and you need to spend all this money, but that's bullshit. You f---ing find music, you pay the artist, you put it out and you pay them royalties. It's simple."

Patton says the number of projects he has on the go means he has little time for anything outside of music. Yes, he's still married to Titi, his Italian wife of nine years ("An eternity," he says, but refuses to elaborate) and continues to live in San Francisco, although he's rarely there.

"I do all this because it keeps me alive," he stresses. "No one is making me do it. I feel comfortable doing it. I'm the one who's taking on these things, and as long as I'm getting them done, I don't see the harm in it."

Despite his undeniably prodigious talent and a loyal but scarily fanatical fan base, Patton's music - with the exception of Faith No More - has never reached a broad, mainstream audience. He makes challenging music that not enough people hear. But this isn't a problem for him.

"I don't really know why it's the way it is," he says of his lack of mainstream success, "but I've become very comfortable with it. I know that whatever I put out, whether people think it's pop or noise or whatever, it's always going to be some kind of a freak or mutation. It's not going to be anything pure that a lot of people will relate to. And that's fine."

And how does he deal with some of his nuttier fans these days?

"I've gotten better at that," he says. "If you treat them like a human being, they'll usually respond accordingly. If they're acting like a dog, sometimes you're forced to treat people like dogs. In general, the nicer you are and the more comfortable you are with yourself, the less bullshit you have to deal with."

The album, a 55-minute single piece of compositional music, is a gothic, atmospheric, mainly instrumental record augmented with choirs, chiming bells, the odd frenetic guitar, tinkling grand piano interludes, other-worldly voices, Morricone-esque whistling and an array of moody twists and turns.

"It's like wallpaper music," Patton says of Delirium Cordia. "I wanted to make it like an ambient thing, something you'd hear in the background while you're doing something else. Whether it comes off like that, I'm not sure, because to really make something subtle and unobtrusive is to take the heart out of it. But it's a real challenge, and this was an exercise in pulling a lot of shit out, stripping it down and trying to say something different."

As for his other projects, he's hoping to finally record his long-mooted "pop" project, Peeping Tom, next year, will shortly release the X-ecutioners collaboration and is working with former Roots rapper Rahzel. Mr Bungle, he says, however, are "dying a natural death", which he won't prevent.

"Hey, I'm lucky people are listening at all," he says modestly. "To have anyone at all raising their eyebrows at anything in this f---ing world is enough. I feel really great where I'm at. I've got a comfortable home for my music where I can put out whatever the hell I want, and I feel like the slate is really clean and I can get away with anything. It's a nice, free feeling."

Tomahawk, Fantomas and Melvins play at the Palace, St Kilda next Thursday, December 11, and Friday, December 12.